


A Soldier's Monolouge

by XxxbladeangelxxX



Series: The After Days [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, At least Jim got the (metaphorical) girl, But c'mon none of us actually think that Jim will get to have nice things do we?, Drunk Alfred is poetic Alfred, Gen, It's Gotham afterall, Poor Alfred, Poor Jim, This is set in an ambiguous future, sort of sad ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:45:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4134558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxxbladeangelxxX/pseuds/XxxbladeangelxxX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can take the soldier out of the war but you can't take the war out of the soldier.<br/>Or alternatively, Alfred reacts to death in the way all of soldiers past a certain age, through copious amounts of alcohol and a good brood.</p>
<p>
  <em>'‘It seemed fitting' that the day Commissioner James Gordon finally succumbed to one of the many enthusiastic attempts at his life was one of the warmest most idyllic days that Gotham had ever witnessed in its dark and cold blooded history'</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Soldier's Monolouge

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this sometime after I watched the second episode of Gotham here on British TV. This is set in some nebulous timeline mash up of the Batman storyline though I don't really mention specific events so much. It's more that I imagine Jim to be the sort of person who is lovely and amazing and stubborn and capable of changing the world but who is ultimately a victim of his status as a secondary character who will die without reaching his full potential.
> 
> Fair warning this work is unbetad by anyone other than myself
> 
> Any advice, comments and criticisms will be gladly accepted 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Gotham

‘It seemed fitting’, Alfred couldn’t help but muse, as he gazed into the dark unfathomable depths of his favoured brand of bourbon, that the day Commissioner James Gordon finally succumbed to one of the many enthusiastic attempts at his life was one of the warmest most idyllic days that Gotham had ever witnessed in its dark and cold blooded history. 

If he had been a man given to flights of fancy Alfred would consider it almost poetic that this cold unfeeling city: Known to drink the blood of innocents and feast on the flesh of the unsuspecting, would see off its oldest and most devoted protector. A man who believed so strongly in the great city that Gotham had once been in some far forgotten past, with its best depiction of the Gotham that he fought so fiercely for.

Still cracked and scarred in places though it was, the Gotham that the good Commissioner had so strongly believed in shone brightly through the rough, chipped and tarnished visage of the city, like the first fleeting smile of a seemingly apathetic Lady: Something so broken yet achingly beautiful that it would secure the lifelong devotion of a virtuous Champion in return for the slightest chance to act as a balm to the ailing Maiden’s wounds, and even if those knightly affections were not returned, for the faintest of traces of that same smile once again gracing the fair Lady’s face.

For a moment Alfred cannot help but tease the edges of that fleeting thought, so peculiar and incongruous and yet strangely fitting, he’s compelled to reflect on the years leading up to this darkly grieving day in a new light. The inexplicable knowledge that would see the good Commissioner instinctively navigating the dark maze-like alleyways of Gotham, while his own brilliant charge, who strove to embody the night, would often see himself hopelessly lost in the muddy early morning grey.

The strange fact that all those who the soldier hunted with his sniper’s focus would find themselves swaddled in light, unable to cling to the comforting darkness that forever cloaked the city and her inhabitants, left painfully bare and vulnerable to the furious Commissioner’s righteous justice.

So it seemed Gotham’s ever dutiful knight was not without his Lady’s favour after all, if anything the Lady seemed to be as protective of the soldier as he had always been of her. ‘What a deadly picture they made’ Alfred thought, Gotham, her still healing wounds bare for all to see, wielding the jagged edges of her skyscrapers as jealous daggers to swipe at all those who would steal her guardian from her. The cold winding streets that snaked their way through her dark shifting form, ready to sink their rusted lamp posts into the flesh of any who would wish her soldier, her saviour, harm. 

And the ever honourable Commissioner with his back ‘gainst hers, a perfect counter point to his Lady, his unshakable morals and unwavering sense of justice a compass to guide him and his fair maiden true. His own savage darkness the blade with which to unseem those who cause the still open wounds upon his precious Lady to fester, his unflinching kindness and the steady security of his love the balm with which to soothe his Lady’s battered form. 

The both of them influencing one another as they strive to protect their other half, seeking solace and comfort in the parts of one another that they forever carry Gotham’s tattered cloak an impenetrable shield of comforting night slung over the determined Commissioner’s weary shoulders an ever-present sign of her favour. While her Knight’s own threadbare coat; an ever burning promise of safety and protection, draped over the pale maiden’s shivering form. Bringing with it warmth and hope as it settles delicately, almost lovingly, about her seemingly fragile frame.

Truly the Lady and her Knight shared a connection so strong that no other would ever be able to compare. The sheer love and devotion that the good Commissioner held for Gotham was unconceivable. Whether it be the metaphorical Lady of Alfred’s inebriated mind stark and sickly, beautiful and grotesque, and terrifyingly possessive: Or the once battered and broken city known far and wide as a hopeless pit of despair. 

Alas, the sacred bond between the lady and her knight must, like all mortal things, come to an end. Even Gotham for all her fearsome, protective wrath and possessive, all-consuming hold over her champion is just as subject to the whims of life and death as any other being: able to do nothing but see off her knight with a gentle smile, amidst the anguished tears and quiet goodbyes of those few he leaves behind, as he sets forth on his journey to the endless battlefields of the hereafter. 

Staring into the murky contents of the only companion that has remained a constant in his long and tiring life, Alfred can only be thankful for the cloudless blue sky, the warm inviting sun and the sweet laughter of innocent children. Amongst the steady patter of unshed tears and the echoing silence of the nostalgic regrets of old soldiers: For the fact that of all of their guilty and stoic goodbyes, at least Gotham was willing to see off her beloved with a graceful and loving adieu.


End file.
